


Exit Stage Left

by ruasquirrel



Category: Steven Universe (Cartoon)
Genre: Angst, Emotional Baggage, Emotional Hurt, Emotions, Gen, Hospitals
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-20
Updated: 2020-03-20
Packaged: 2021-02-28 22:27:34
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 862
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23234713
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ruasquirrel/pseuds/ruasquirrel
Summary: "He feels terribly vulnerable in this moment, sitting in the centre of an unfamiliar room in nothing but his underwear, looking up at the broken light fixtures and remembering how it had felt for them to shatter against his head."--Greg and Steven walk out of the hospital together.(Set between the final two scenes in Growing Pains.)
Comments: 2
Kudos: 88





	Exit Stage Left

**Author's Note:**

> Just a quick little piece I wanted to get out there before the new eps air, it's far from perfect, but here you go!

“I just wanna go home”, he said, burning palms pressed against cold stone.

His dad had asked no further questions, had smiled at him and said ‘sure thing buddy’ and then ran to fetch him a fresh gown, stepping carefully around the patches of broken glass.

Somewhere in the distance an alarm is sounding, and as he casts his gaze over the room and takes stock of the damage, he remembers with a grimace that it’s his fault. He feels terribly vulnerable in this moment, sitting in the centre of an unfamiliar room in nothing but his underwear, looking up at the broken light fixtures and remembering how it had felt for them to shatter against his head.

His father returns, drapes a gown over his sullen form, quickly growing cold from the exposure. Dr Maheswaran steps into the room, and he barely manages to look up at her face as she slips a piece of paper into his father’s waiting hand. Connie isn’t with her. She wishes him luck, and offers him a tired smile not unlike the one he often sees reflected back at him in the mirror.

“Come on buddy, let’s get you home,” says Dad, placing a warm hand on his shoulder.

He offers his hand, and Steven accepts it, easing himself on to his feet and hesitating to take his first steps across the glass-coated floor. He looks to his father, sees the concern written on his face and immediately wishes he were smaller, easier to carry. Together they pick their way across the room, and Steven decides not to remind his dad that the clothes he arrived in are probably being kept somewhere close, ready for him to collect. He’d rather not spend any more time here than he needs to.

They step into the hallway, and the harsh white lighting stings his eyes as they adjust to their new environment: a stark contrast from the deep blue hue of the gloom. He blinks, screws up his eyes and sets his sights on the exit. The alarm is louder now, blaring down the corridor as if seeking to remind him of his shame. Barefoot, he pads down the hall with his father’s arm slung protectively over his shoulders. Doctors and nurses whisper amongst each other as he passes them by, and he can feel his embarrassment make itself known through the heat rising in his cheeks. A stern-faced custodian stalks in the opposite direction clutching a broom, and he barely stops himself from uttering a bashful apology.

Together, man and boy reach the exit, and Dad quickly steps forward to hold open the door for his son. Ironic given his supernatural strength. Steven is quietly ushered outside, and he dares to throw a glance back through the doors as they swing shut, just in time to catch the staff jumping quickly back into action. They had been so still before, watching his solemn march towards the exit.

He must have put on quite the show.

Greg leaves his side, and Steven instantly feels colder. His dad tells him he’ll pull up the van so he doesn’t have to walk across the parking lot in bare feet. Steven assures him he doesn’t mind, reminds him that any damage is easily fixed, so it doesn’t really matter that much. That statement earns him a heart-achingly sad look from his father, and he instantly regrets saying it.

“I’ll be right back,” Greg says, and jogs towards the van.

By the time the van pulls up his breath is coming out as a fine mist and his feet seem to have begun quick-stepping in place of their own volition, desperate to stay away from the freezing tarmac. He gratefully swings the door open and climbs into the front seat, where he notices the heating has already been turned up to full.

“It’ll take a while to heat up,” says Dad apologetically, reaching behind him and pulling a blanket out from the back. Steven takes it from him with a quiet word of thanks, wraps himself up and settles in to the seat as snugly as he can. He watches the hospital building grow smaller and smaller as they drive away, increasingly grateful for every metre of distance that gets put between him and that strange, alien place and the unpleasant memories it now contained.

His dad turns on the radio, and though he undoubtedly feels they have a lot to talk about, allows him to spend the journey home in quiet contemplation. Steven heaves a sigh, props his elbow up on the handle and gazes blearily out the window as the world passes by in a blur of ambers and yellows and muted reds, illuminated by the late afternoon sun.

He turns over the day’s events in his mind, thinks of all the things he should have said or done or …asked. It sounded stupid even to his own ears, but he never did get the chance to ask Dr Maheswaran if human hormones were colour coded. They probably weren’t, but as far as he was concerned, cortisol sounded to him like it could be a pretty shade of pink.

**Author's Note:**

> Steven really needs Greg right now, I'm so glad they're getting some time together, as temporary as it may end up being.


End file.
